The Gambler's Fortune (Einarinn 3) (11 page)

“Messire D’Olbriot made the deal with Planir.” I shrugged. “He agreed a wizard should come to send any news back straightaway. If we find aetheric magic, Messire wants it fast enough to be some use if Elietimm boats turn .up now the winter storms are over. Getting letters back, even by courier, would take half a season. Pay a merchant to carry it, he’ll like as not forget it; hire a messenger and he’ll either get lost or hit on the head for his satchel. No, Planir knows he’s beholden to D’Olbriot on this and D’Olbriot knows he’s beholden to me.”

Sorgrad was patently curious. “So what do you get out of this?”

“You know that one deal, the one that sets you up for life?” I drew a teasing breath. “This could be it, ’Grad, this could just be it.”

Sorgrad laughed. “Like Cordainer’s offer? Like I don’t know how many other schemes Charoleia’s suggested over the years? You don’t take lead coin any more than I do!”

“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?” I laughed. “There’s got to be profit to be made from holding a marker with a Tormalin prince’s name on it.”

Sorgrad nodded and I was satisfied. As long as he thought I was just playing a speculation, I wouldn’t have to explain myself. Time enough for that when I claimed my pay-off from Messire. How best to make sure that debt would be a sizeable one was my current concern. “Let’s not waste daylight.” I stood up. “I’ll see you all back here at noon?”

“As long as ’Gren and that wizard haven’t landed themselves in too much trouble,” grinned Sorgrad. “No, this is a bit too rich for ’Gren’s blood. We’ll meet at the Swan in the Moon.”

I stifled a qualm as I followed him down the stairs. ’Gren could take care of himself and if Usara made a misstep Planir could bail him out.

I decided to start with the market square. There was no indication of last night’s bounty from the guilds now; all had been swept clean and men and women waited in long patient lines. The women were chatting, swapping opinions on erstwhile employers and comparing rates of pay; housemaids with their mops, weavers with the distaff no one uses these days if there’s the chance of a spinning wheel, dairymaids whose stools at least offered a seat to save their legs. Fresh-faced girls with hopeful smiles stood next to others with harder faces and wary eyes, those who’d made a bad bargain for their fastening penny the year before. The men weren’t talking so freely, eyeing up potential competition. Carters stood with a twist of whipcord pinned to their jerkins, grooms carried a hay wisp, shepherds had wool tucked in buttonholes and hatbands, a tuft of brindled hair for cowmen.

I made my way to the Swan in the Moon, wondering about enlisting Niello’s aid. Minstrels would be contacting him, looking for a hire to take them east across the Old Empire, traveling through the spring and summer seasons. Then it would be back to Col to squander their earnings at the autumn fair, one last celebration before heading back to the Forest with the songs and little luxuries they had gathered. I’d heard the same hopeful patter from three such on the road from Relshaz, all eager for a patron to pay their way but unable to shed light on my tantalizing song book.

I looked idly at the maidservants waiting for some offer of a fastening penny and, with luck, an advance on their wages for some festival fun. The older housemaids were about my own age, hopefully clutching their feather dusters. Who knows, if my mother had let me prove my independence by taking a stand at the summer fair of my fifteenth year, it is just about possible I might still be in Vanam. I could have been diligently saving my wages for linen and plate, sewing neat seams for a well-filled dowry chest, waiting for some tradesman at the servants’ door to woo me away to a respectable match that even my grandmother couldn’t scorn.

I laughed out loud. Only if I hadn’t taken to my heels with some glib charmer like Niello, after a few seasons polishing up fire irons and blackleading grates had driven me demented with boredom. I stuck my head through the gate of the courtyard and realized none of the masqueraders were around; doubtless all still abed and likely to be so for a good while. I’d come back later.

Music drew me into the tap room of the Fleet Hound but all I found was an impromptu gathering of local lads doing their best to impress their sweethearts. They were all fresh-faced girls; hair modestly braided and skirts decorously hiding the tops of their boots. One looked askance at my breeches and I grinned at her. The winter past had cured me of any lingering notion Drianon ever meant me for domesticity.

I had tried my best in Ryshad’s Zyoutessela home. I’d smiled politely at his mother, taken an interest in the doings of her sewing circle and changed the subject every time she mentioned the neighbors whose daughter would be laying a wedding plait on Drianon’s altar come Solstice. I had even spent more time in skirts than in breeches for the first time since I’d left home, until desperation had driven me out to hang around the D’Olbriot citadel in hopes of seeing Ryshad and curiosity had lead me to the vast, echoing library, the shelves of books reaching so high they had their own ladders attached.

At least my own mother had never smothered me with the suffocating, uncritical affection of Mistress Tathel. She’d taught me to read and reckon, encouraged me to think for myself, to acquire skills to offset the disadvantage of my birth, though she’d been thinking more of clerking rather than honing my talents with a bag full of runes. I’d grown fond enough of Ryshad’s mother but she reminded me of the white-banded eaves-birds I could see building nests under the gable of the inns that ringed the square. They always return to the spot they’d used the year before and the year before that. My sympathies lay with the ring-necked hawk I could see scanning the roadside, ready to stoop on any prey flushed out by a passing wagon, taking whatever Talagrin sent it.

A wain trundled past, rumbling over the cobbles, leather creaking as the harness horse strained against his collar. I hadn’t been the only squeaky wheel on the wagon that winter. Ryshad soon realized there would be no going back to his father’s trade. His brothers were doing well; an ordinance the previous year banning wooden porches as a fire hazard had given them all the work they could wish for, and they adorned all the fashionable houses with smart stone pilasters and canopies. But now that work had largely dried up, three stonemasons in the family business was as much as the trade would bear. His elder brothers made it quite clear.

I hadn’t taken to Hansey or Ridner and the feeling had been mutual. Both expected demure obedience and home-embroidered linen from decent girls. Each was courting a tedious lass with wooing so lackluster any woman with a pennyweight of spirit would have been looking for a better offer. I’d said as much one evening, patronized beyond endurance.

I sighed, missing Ryshad, his ready wits, his certainty, his strong arms around me and the warmth of his loving. What we needed was some way of keeping ourselves in coin that we could both accept. His sense of honor wouldn’t stand for living off the profits I could turn with a rune and I couldn’t settle with him taking up some tedious trade, living in a neat little row house three streets from his mother and dining with the family every market-day evening.

A troop of dancers came out of the Bag of Nails. I waved to one. “What musicians have you got playing for you? I’m looking for a Forest minstrel.”

The girl shrugged. “Keep looking then. All we have are a couple of halfwits from Peorle.” She went on her way, a dancer’s grace in her steps for all her sensible shoes and warm cape.

Winter Solstice had brought Martel, Ryshad’s next eldest brother, to Zyoutessela. Home from his law studies in Toremal, he’d had a curvaceous masquerade dancer on his arm wearing less in the depths of winter than Mistress Tathel did at the height of the southern summer. Poor Mistress Tathel had desperately sought to be welcoming, imperfectly concealing her hopes that this lass’s lustrous locks would stay uncropped. Hansey and Ridner were torn between disapproval and envy and under the cover of the ensuing uproar Ryshad and I had found time to examine our prospects for the new year upon us.

D’Olbriot had offered Ryshad the title of chosen man, an undeniable honor. A sworn man making the step to chosen man and then rendering sound service could justifiably hope for a later commission to watch over D’Olbriot lands and tenants in some city or province. A stewardship, its stipend, independence to live our lives as we chose; it sounded promising. Ryshad saw it as the soundest foundation for our life together but I wasn’t about to sit on my hands for the next fifteen years waiting for that apple to fall in my lap. We needed some way of putting Messire D’Olbriot so deep in our debt that his gratitude favored Ryshad at once.

What were the patron’s pressing concerns? Firstly, securing the Archmage’s assistance without being obligated to Hadrumal. Secondly, ensuring the House of D’Olbriot retained its position as the sole conduit of influence with the colony of Kel Ar’Ayen, or Kellarin as more modern inflexions had it. Which is why I was here in Selerima working on the former while Ryshad was busy in the temporary service of Messire’s nephew Camarl, securing the latter. I still missed him though. Had I talked myself into a pointless quest when I might just as well have stayed at his side? I heaved a sigh.

No. If you don’t throw the runes, you can’t win the wager. What did ’Gren say about a seemingly impossible task? “You eat an elk one bite at a time,” usually adding, “and you start with its balls if it’s fighting back.”

Selerima, Western Ensaimin,

Second Day of the Spring Fair, Afternoon

“I hardly think you are in a position to be making demands!” Eirys folded her arms and her indignation echoed around the bare white walls of the little room.

“I don’t think I should have to be asking,” Jeirran replied icily. He emptied his purse onto a dresser with chipped paint and a crooked hanging door. “A wife shouldn’t need reminding of her duties in bed or out of it.”

Eirys sniffed crossly. “If you had any consideration, you’d think of the consequences. What if I were to catch down here, in this rancid air? The babe would probably slip before we were halfway home.” She ran an unconscious hand over her slim waist.

“Aren’t you making a rather big assumption?” Jeirran turned with a sneer. “It’s been the best part of half a year since we were shackled over Misaen’s anvil. When’s Maewelin going to give you sons to work your land with me? Perhaps you should try and find a holy place if these profane lowlanders have such a thing, ask for her blessing.”

“Perhaps she’s waiting until you’ve proved yourself able to provide for me,” Eirys retorted acidly. “All your great plans have come to naught so far. All you’ve managed is disgracing my brother by getting yourselves locked up. I don’t know what Mother will say!”

“She won’t say a thing because you won’t tell her.” Jeirran raised a warning hand and Eirys took a hurried step to put the narrow bedstead between them.

“She’ll ask how we prospered,” she insisted nervously. “When we’ve been away so long, when you promised—” She fell silent as Jeirran took a pace forward.

“You go out shopping today,” he forced a smile. “Buy yourself a couple of nice dress lengths, some of the fripperies and fancies. Get your mother some Caladhrian lace, that should please her.” His tone hardened a little as he filled a small pouch with copper coin. “Find something that’ll have her well enough satisfied to keep her nose out of my business.” He tossed the purse onto the bed.

Eirys nodded, a smile brightening her face as she tied the purse at her waist. She picked up a warm embroidered shawl from the tattered counterpane, tucking it around her as she made for the door. Jeirran caught her with a powerful hand. “You needn’t hurry, sweetest.” He brushed a wisp of golden hair from her cheek and kissed her, lightly at first, then with more force, an insistent hand at the back of her head.

“It’s already late.” Eirys pushed ineffectually at his broad chest and twisted her face away coquettishly. “The best goods are to be had in the mornings—”

“And the best bargains are to be had in the evenings.” Jeirran’s forceful embrace startled a faint exclamation from Eirys but she yielded to his kisses readily enough. Jeirran’s murmurs of satisfaction were answered by her stifled giggles, his breath coming faster and one hand untucking the blouse from her waistband before an abrupt knock startled them both.

“Tidy yourself up,” Jeirran snapped, adjusting the set of his trews. “Who is it?”

“Us,” came the tart reply through the rough wooden door. Jeirran untied the latchstring to let Keisyl and Teiriol enter. Teiriol gave Eirys a sharp look seeing the high color in her face but she shook her head minutely, silent appeal in her cornflower eyes.

“What have you two been doing this morning?” asked Jeirran with a creditable assumption of ease. “The maid said you’d gone out at first light.”

“We thought we’d try our luck at the races,” Keisyl shot Jeirran a meaningful glare. “See if we could find another way to turn up some profit on this trip.”

“You should have woken me. What’s the horseflesh like down here?” Jeirran demanded with genuine interest.

“Bigger,” answered Teiriol with a bark of laughter. “Faster, sleeker, they race like dogs after a hare.”

“Lovely to watch but no earthly good on a steep track or for packing more than Eirys’ weight.” Admiration gave the lie to Keisyl’s contempt.

“You must have got their measure easily enough.” Jeirran looked hopefully at them both.

“After handling hill ponies all my life?” Keisyl snorted. “I could have told you which were the likely winners before the grooms got them saddled—”

“—but none of the touts would take our coin,” Teiriol burst out. “Apparently they’d heard about the likes of us. Mountain folk aren’t to be trusted, so they tell us!”

“You’re saying they wouldn’t even hold your stake?” Confusion drove the optimism from Jeirran’s eyes and a dark scowl settled on his brow.

“Not one of them,” confirmed Keisyl with cold anger. “No explanation, no apology, just thinly veiled hints that we were somehow going to cheat them.”